


Sweet Creature

by agenthill



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-02-03 13:49:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12749589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: “Nenet,” Angela repeats, voice softening ever so slightly as she looks at the dog, who perks up visibly at the attention.  While Angela may be annoyed with Fareeha for bringing Nenet home, the same is clearly not true of her feelings for the dog herself.  She bends down to look their new companion in the eye, “What has my silly wife gotten you into?”Or,Fareeha decides to adopt a dog, and Angela is still unsure as to whether or not they're ready to be responsible for another being, canine or otherwise.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pharamedic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pharamedic/gifts).



> the rare not-a-plighted-hands fic, occurs only once every 20 rory fics, 
> 
> no okay jk but fr this is NOT plighted hands its just a little bit of fluff for nadine's birthday, featuring a dog bc she loves them
> 
> all u need to know is in this universe everything is the same except theyre wives bc i said so. marriage is nice

Fareeha is not one for impulsive decisions—off the battlefield, she has cultivating the habit of taking as much time as she thinks she needs to fully consider something, examining from every angle the potential benefits and drawbacks of all of her options, and while she may need to make split second decisions when fighting, they are never _rash,_ are still the best course of action given what she knows of the situation and what she has learned from years of drills and experience—but sometimes, _sometimes_ her nature gets the better of her, and she finds herself making a less than informed decision.

This is, undoubtedly, one of those cases.

“ _Fareeha_ ,” Angela says, tone not sharp, necessarily, but certainly not gentle either, “I do hope that isn’t _yours_.”

“Well…” Fareeha begins, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, feeling her cheeks heat a bit, “It’s certainly possible…”

One of Angela’s eyebrows raises, and she is clearly unimpressed with the answer, “Oh it’s _possible_ , is it?  One would think you would know.”

In the time it takes for Fareeha to compose an answer, Angela is continuing, “After all, something as big as that is, you must’ve put _some_ thought into where you’re putting it.”  This statement is accompanied with a large sweep of her hand, and Fareeha’s gaze follows the gesture to the large creature sitting at her left side, tail wagging.

“She has a name,” Fareeha says, “Nenet.”

“Nenet,” Angela repeats, voice softening ever so slightly as she looks at the dog, who perks up visibly at the attention.  While Angela may be annoyed with Fareeha for bringing the dog home, the same is clearly not true of her feelings for Nenet herself.  She bends down to look their new companion in the eye, “What has my silly wife gotten you into?”

Fareeha pouts a bit at being ignored, hoping Angela will look up and be swayed, but quickly realizes that her wife is far more interested in the dog than her words thus far have indicated.  A good sign, considering what Fareeha is about to propose next, “I was hoping she might stay with us.”

Then, Angela does look up, “ _Where?_ She’s a bit large to be sleeping in our bed.”

If Fareeha said she had thought that far ahead, she would be lying.  Her thought process in adopting Nenet mainly consisted of looking into her large amber eyes and falling instantly in love—a story she doubts will endear Nenet to her wife.  

“I don’t know,” she admits, because she is a terrible liar, and there would be little point in trying to make Angela believe otherwise, “I mean, in our quarters, obviously, but…”

“Does she have a bed?  A bowl?  A leash?”  The questions could be innocent enough, if not for Angela’s tone, which makes it clear that Fareeha really _ought to have_ thought of these things before now.

“Not yet,” says Fareeha, more confidently, because if Angela is already considering these questions then she has already won—it is only a matter of time until her wife concedes, and Nenet is officially a part of their family.  “Well, she does have a leash, but I thought we could pick out the rest together, later.”

Long fingers pinch the bridge of Angela’s nose as she takes a breath in, closes her eyes, then heaves a sigh, “You are aware of how much of a commitment a dog is, right Fareeha?  She’s large, and large breeds do have shorter lifespans, but she’s going to be in our life for several years if we go through with this, and—”

“She’s a Ridgeback,” Fareeha cuts in.  “Her projected lifespan is 10-12 years, but she’s two already.  An army buddy of mine had her as an ESA, before he—” she stumbles a bit, on the words, recovers, “He doesn’t need her anymore.”

Fortunately, she need not be more specific.  While Angela may not have accompanied her on her trip back to Cairo for the funeral, they both know well where it is she just was.  “His parents were going to send her to the pound—she’s too active for them, and I couldn’t just—I don’t know.” 

(She does know; she could not fail Nenet, not in the same way she failed the dog’s previous owner.)

Angela’s careful hands wrap themselves around her wrists, and Fareeha moves her gaze from where it had fallen, on the ground, back up to Angela’s face.

“Shh,” Angela tells her, “I understand, habibti.”  After so many years together, Angela has picked up the endearment from her.  “I’m not opposed to the dog—to Nenet—” she corrects herself, “I promise.  I just want to be sure that we’re doing the right thing, taking her in.  I know that you want what’s best for her, and you feel responsible— _I know_ —but Nenet’s a living being too.  We can’t just…” Angela frowns as if considering her next words carefully, “We take enough responsibility for the lives of others, already.  Maybe too much.  She deserves to be taken care of by people who can give her the time and resources she needs.” 

Of course, Fareeha agrees; that is, at least partially, why the two of them do not have a dog already, but agreeing that Angela has a point, on an intellectual level, does not mean that she is ready to let this go, does not mean that she _feels_ right, doing so.

“I know her routine already,” Fareeha argues, “A run in the morning, frozen yogurt twice a week at bedtime.  She’s a working dog, not a pet—she doesn’t need us to play with her that often, only needs to feel useful, like she’s doing her job.  If I take her along on my morning jog, remember to buy her treat for her on our weekly grocery run, let her put her head in my lap on bad days, that will be enough for her.  She’ll need time to transition to being retired, but that isn’t going to be so bad—at least we know, having worked, she won’t be the type to get into trouble.  I can bring her into the workshop with me without worrying about her hurting herself.  That’s not so much of a change.”

“And _who_ ,” Angela asks her, “Is going to run with Nenet when you’re on assignment?  Not me, surely.”

Fareeha almost laughs at Angela’s tone as she says that—the degree to which her wife hates running, going so far as to building the Valkyrie suit to ensure she would not have to in the field, is a constant source of amusement to her—but does recognize that it _is_ an important question.  “Lena, I suppose.  Or Hana, now that she’s joined me for morning runs.  Lúcio might too, if no one else is available—he owes me for feeding his frogs all these years.” 

(Fond as Lúcio is of his pets, and as much as Fareeha likes her best friend, she suspects she will always fear his frogs.  Somehow, the knowledge that they are essentially just mouths—with teeth!—and legs long enough to throw said mouths at prey, is disturbing to her.  The _least_ Lúcio can do is run with Nenet, every so often.)

Angela snorts, at this, and Fareeha thinks she will always find it cute how her delicate looking wife could make so _indelicate_ a sound when amused. 

“Yes,” she agrees, having had to have helped Fareeha feed Lúcio’s frogs on most, if not all, of those occasions, “I suppose that is true.” 

For a moment, Fareeha thinks Angela is done, “But!” she holds up one finger to stop Fareeha before she can speak again, “But dogs are not frogs, Fareeha.  What will she think, being left behind?  I know you plan to retire her but—it’s as you said, working is what makes her happy, for the time being.  You can’t just _leave_ her, until that’s done with, until she knows she doesn’t work for you, or she’s going to think she’s failing you.”

This is something Fareeha is not so certain how to counter—what will Nenet think of being left behind?  Given her own past, being left time and again when her mother was fighting in the Omnic Crisis, she perhaps ought to have considered it, but a dog, while not a frog, is also not a baby, and so she did not stop to even consider how Nenet might feel, when she is gone, if Nenet would think she was leaving forever just as—

Well, it does not bear thinking of.  A dog is not a baby, a dog is a _dog_ and Fareeha knows that, in time, Nenet will come to understand her leaving, to expect it, will grow used to it.

(After all, Fareeha grew used to Ana leaving, sooner or later.  Surely if she could, as a child, Nenet can too.)

“She’ll get used to my being away,” Fareeha answers confidently, because Nenet can, and Nenet will, just as Fareeha did, just as any baby (not a dog) will have to, if she and Angela have a child of their own.

“Just like that?” Angela asks.

“Well,” Fareeha says, “No, but I’m sure if I asked Winston he could arrange for the two of us to not be off base at the same time for the next month or so, while she adjusts.” 

“What makes you think I’ll be agreeing to co-ownership?”

“Well,” Fareeha takes a step back from Angela, and squats down besides Nenet, “You _are_ my wife.  Even if she is my dog, she’s going to be living with both of us.  She’ll get _attached_ to both of us.  Besides,” her voice changes to one she might use on small children, and she brings a hand to scratch under Nenet’s chin, “Who could say no to this beautiful face?”

As if in agreement, Nenet begins to wag her tail, and Fareeha can hear Angela heaving a sigh.

“ _Fine_ ,” Angela acquiesces, “I’ll grant you the fact that she is an exceptionally beautiful dog, and her cuteness is persuasive.”

“Did you hear that, Nenet?” Fareeha says excitedly, “You’re gonna join the family!”

“I didn’t say that—I still don’t know the first thing about her!”

“But you think she’s cute,” Fareeha says.  Despite Angela’s protests, Fareeha knows already that she will win this argument; Angela enjoys caring for others, enjoys feeling needed, enjoys being able to make a difference in others’ lives—all of which are reasons she became a doctor, and desires that taking Nenet in will fill.

(Were it not for the issue of longevity, and Angela’s deep fear of those she loves dying, Fareeha imagines that her wife might have been the type of woman to have many pets.  Instead, to the best of Fareeha’s knowledge, she has never had one.  A part of Fareeha does worry, for an instant, about introducing the potential to lose Nenet into Angela’s life—for Nenet will live for the next six, perhaps seven years, but not much beyond that—but her wife has gotten better, in the years they have known one another, about thinking of death in a healthy way.  Losing Nenet will be hard on her, doubtlessly, but sooner or later, _someone_ that Angela loves will have to die, canid or otherwise.)

“Admitting—when pressed—that Nenet is cute isn’t _remotely_ the same as saying I’ll take her in.  As I’m sure you know by now, it takes more than just a pretty face to sway me.”

“What about two pretty faces?” Fareeha says, with a winning smile.

“Cute,” says Angela, “But no.  I don’t know the first thing about Nenet herself, still.”

“Okay,” this, Fareeha can work with, “Her name, Nenet, is kind of a joke, Hass—her previous owner—” it hurts to say his name, yet, the syllables still taste of failure on her tongue, “He asked me for recommendations, said he wanted something that he could tell people had a ‘deep’ meaning.  I think he wanted me to give him a name that referenced poetry or philosophy or something, because he was always teasing me in our army days about my interest in those things.  Instead I recommended Nenet, because she’s goddess of the ocean—literally, goddess of the deep.”

“That,” says Angela, “Is _terrible._ I hope no one has ever asked you to help them name a baby.”

“Not yet,” Fareeha says, with a grin, before continuing.  “Her breed is known for being intelligent and loyal, and from what he told me about her, she probably is too—once she’s bonded to us, Reinhardt won’t easily be able to steal her loyalty with treats.”

“He will undoubtedly try,” something in her wife’s voice hints at a story, there, but Fareeha is not sure she wants to know, just yet.

“Well, if she lives up to her breed’s reputation, he’ll have some difficulty with that.  Ridgebacks were bred to bay lions, not befriend them.”  Then, a thought, “Or, well, the females were.  The males generally were left at home with children—human and canine.”

“ _Oh_ ,” says Angela, voice soft in a way that lately, has been reserved exclusively for moments like this, when Fareeha alludes to the idea of the two of them having children of their own someday.  “Is she… good with children?”

(When they married, Angela was still undecided on the matter of children, warned Fareeha that she could make no promises as to whether she wanted them then, or ever would.  Now, Fareeha thinks, the answer to that question is becoming increasingly clear, in the way the lines around Angela’s eyes soften in moments like this, and in the thousand things not said but nevertheless understood.)

“Yes,” Fareeha tries not to let herself be too hopeful, when Angela’s face seems to light up a bit at that answer to the question, “Her previous owner’s favorite sister has more than a few children, and they apparently got along quite well.  If she didn’t need regular exercise I get the feeling Nenet would’ve gone on to live with them.”

“Well,” says Angela then, and does not add anything else. 

(A dog is not a baby, Fareeha thinks, but it does seem to mean considering one.)

Extending the back of her hand to be sniffed, Angela moves closer to the both of them, allows Nenet to inspect her, smiles when Nenet noses at her hand, her neck, her face.  Normally, such smiles as this one are reserved only for Fareeha, unguarded and without pretense, but it seems Nenet has rather quickly made her way into Angela’s heart.

“You know,” says Fareeha, “No one is using any of the family quarters on base.  I’m sure if we asked Winston would authorize us to use them.”

The look Angela gives her then is strange, and she rushes to clarify, “I mean, we probably couldn’t squeeze a bed for her into our current bedroom—I’m surprised we managed to fit _our_ bed into our current bedroom.”

“Ah,” says Angela, sounding almost disappointed, “Yes, for Nenet.”

(A dog is not a baby, Fareeha reminds herself, but maybe, if things with Nenet go well, they might have both.)

“So it’s settled, then?” Fareeha asks—and does not specify what.

Angela hums a yes, attention once again fixed on Nenet, who has rolled over onto her back between the two of them.

Rarely does Fareeha make impulsive decisions but this one—this one was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ESA - emotional support animal btw. if u dont know... now u know
> 
> anyway there may be a part two of this featuring angela and nenet bonding SOMEDAY since there is a bit more to this headcanon but for now. this is self contained. a tiny little thing. bc if its short i dont have to ruin it w angst
> 
> also i love frogs so dont get it twisted i just think FAREEHA might be a little afraid of them. meanwhile i have a pet frog, and do not fear them, despite their teeth. my anora is sweet and doesnt bite me
> 
> title is a harry styles song because um... i love him. i mean im gay but i love him


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nadine wanted more and so here i am... back again... with more fluffy goodness
> 
> two quick notes:  
> 1) izzah is my pm fanchild and SHH u cant make me give her up. im v attached. shes mentioned a lot even if she never appears on-screen here  
> 2) shes deaf (like sam is in ph verse) from birth, and no angela has no interest in "fixing" this or some other dumb shit bc... sam is involved in Deaf culture and fareeha grew up around it and long story short... deafness isnt something that needs to be fixed so just jot that down

There was a time in her life when Angela was a heavy sleeper, when nothing short of the sound of an emergency notification from her comm, shrill and insistent, would rouse her before she was ready; it was not—is not—a good trait for one who routinely travels to warzones, who sleeps scarcely more than a kilometer or two from battlefields, but despite attempts by her superior officers to break her of it for her own safety, Angela never could quite shake it, could not find within herself the wherewithal to do so.

Now, she sleeps not at all.

It might have been a bad thing, once, insomnia, but she can hardly complain given the cause.  There are no nightmares which keep her awake—or, rather, they are few and far enough between, and easily soothed by the woman at her side—is nothing but silence.

She should be thankful for the silence; usually it is not so.  She should take advantage, and sleep while she can—alone, in the dark, no wife hogging the covers or baby crying—but it is lonely now, the silence.

Strange to think that once, this was all she had, herself in nearly empty quarters, and work the next day, stranger still to think that she was ever _content_ in those days. 

(But she was—there is no sense in saying she was not, in acting as if she was lonely then, or discontented, longing for something greater.  She was not, for one cannot miss what one has never had.)

Strange—but true. 

Ten years ago, Angela could not have imagined herself here, unable to sleep without her wife at her side, could not have imagined herself with a _wife_ at all.  She was content, then, with her research and her fieldwork and her friends, and she is content, too, now, with a wife, a daughter, and a dog.

Marriage has not completed Angela Ziegler, for she was not incomplete before—but it has, perhaps, expanded her life.

It has not completed her but now, alone, she feels lonely, misses having those she loves near to her, even if they are gone only for a short while.

Fareeha is away on a mission, and has been for two weeks, her first long assignment since the birth of their daughter eight months before.  Having become used to having Fareeha by her every night, during the pregnancy and afterwards, Angela has missed her sorely, and has been grateful to Izzah for providing a distraction; it is hard to be lonely when one’s infant cries the instant she is set down, and harder still when one’s dog is always underfoot, trying to _help_ with the baby, but not accomplishing much of anything, other than tripping Angela up.

(Truthfully, Angela cannot fault her—Nenet was a service dog, before she was Fareeha’s, before she was _theirs_ , and her instinct will always be to work.  Still, she is not always _needed_ , and sometimes that instinct causes more problems than it solves.)

Tonight, however, Izzah is not here.  Fareeha was meant to arrive home hours ago, and so Ana volunteered to take their daughter for the night—an offer supposedly to help Angela and Fareeha have some uninterrupted time alone, but Angela rather suspects it is as much for Ana’s benefit as anything else, for she dotes on Izzah.

In the beginning, Fareeha was not certain that she wanted her mother to be too involved with their daughter, their relationship still complicated as it is, and the fear of leaving always there.  Now, however, things have calmed somewhat, and although at times their interactions are bittersweet, she and her mother have reached an understanding about Izzah, about each other, about themselves.  Angela understands better, now, why Fareeha wanted so badly to be a mother, to carry a child, and is grateful once again that she let herself be talked into agreeing to motherhood.  She has enjoyed it, just as she has enjoyed the other things Fareeha convinced her to do—getting married, adopting a pet.

She has enjoyed it but—she reminds herself—she would not be wanting without it, would still be a whole person.

Perhaps if she reminds herself of that often enough, then she will stop feeling so lonely, and will finally be able to sleep.

But how can she?  How can she when the bed is cold beside her, and the baby monitor is completely silent, no quiet babbling or grunting on the other end, when the only sound is Nenet whining—

—Why is Nenet whining?

Normally, Nenet is quiet and well-behaved, so much so that their success in caring for her was one of Fareeha’s arguments as evidence that the two of them were qualified to look after a child, ridiculous as the comparison was.  Normally, she whines only when distressed—which is to say almost never, except for when there is a party on base, and someone purchases balloons.  Normally, she would not act like this, unless something was wrong.

Angela abandons her attempt at sleep, and is out of bed in an instant, comm ready to call in an emergency in one hand and Fareeha’s hockey stick, hastily pulled out of their closet in the other.

(Once, her service weapon would have been on hand, in her dresser at Fareeha’s insistence, as much as she hated to have it there.  Now, with a small child, her blaster stays where it belongs, stowed with her other equipment, safely out of a baby’s reach.  It may be time to find a middle ground.)

Stealthily as she can, she moves from she and Fareeha’s bedroom to the main room of their quarters, and from there towards the nursery, following the sound of the whining all the while.

For a moment, panic grips her— _the nursery_ —before she remembers that Izzah is safely two halls away, asleep in a portable cot in Ana’s room, and not here.  Still, the spike of adrenaline from that worry compels her to move faster, to burst into the room and catch—

—Only Nenet, whining by an empty crib.

“Oh, you poor girl,” she croons at Nenet, hockey stick falling from her hand as she reaches instead to tug comfortingly on her dog’s ears, “Are you worried about Izzah?”

This is, after all, Izzah’s first night not spent in their quarters—or, the first since she was released from the medbay after a tumultuous first 72 hours of life.  Hard as it is for _Angela_ to be away from her for the night, to not be able to check on her if she is quiet for too long, and to be _alone_ here without her wife, or her baby, barely fighting the urge to call Ana just to be sure everything is alright, at least _she_ understands what is happening, and why.  Poor Nenet has no frame of reference for such an event, has no idea where or why Izzah has gone.

It makes sense, then, that Nenet would worry, that she would notice the baby’s absence and be concerned.

Really, Angela should do something about that, she thinks to herself as she rubs at Nenet’s side in a way she hopes is soothing.  What kind of responsible pet owner would she be if she did not?

(Never mind that, when they took in Nenet, she insisted to Fareeha that the dog was her wife’s and her wife’s _alone_ , and she would take no responsibility for her wellbeing—Nenet has grown on her, and quickly so.)

“Athena?” Angela asks, “Is Ana awake?”

Nenet stands up as Athena replies in the affirmative—Angela rather suspects that, while Nenet is now _used to_ Athena, she will never fully accept or understand the existence of the AI—and Angela tells herself that it is for the sake of the dog that she messages Ana immediately after receiving confirmation that she will not be waking her.

_How is Izzah?_ she types, and then quickly adds, so as to clarify her intent in asking, _Nenet has been worrying about her._

Because this is, of course, about and for Nenet, or so Angela tells herself.  It would be ridiculous if _she_ were worried, because she knows Ana is more than capable for caring for Izzah for a single night, and she is not the type to be so anxious a mother, surely.  After so many years spent alone, both during the first Overwatch and after, when she was travelling near constantly, there is no reason why Angela _ought_ to be the sort of mother who cannot stand to be away from her child for one night.

And yet—

No, this is for Nenet.

(Angela is afraid of what it would mean otherwise, if she were the one who needed reassurance already, afraid that maybe she is _too_ attached, afraid that if she loses Izzah, or Fareeha—well, best not to dwell on either of those things.  And what of her career?  Will she grow used to this separation?  Once Izzah turns a year old, Angela is slated to return to doing relief work, flying across the world for days, weeks at a time.  Will she still be able to?)

This is for Nenet, and Angela worries not at all.

Still, when Ana responds not with a call, but a message, Angela cannot deny that she is disappointed.  _She just went back to sleep,_ Ana writes, _I’m also going back to sleep, and you should too.  The dog will be fine, and so will Izzah.  If I didn’t already know how to take care of a baby you wouldn’t have one._

_Please_ , Angela writes, and tells herself that this is only for the sake of Nenet, _Could we call just for a moment, so Nenet could hear her and calm down?_ Calling could not possibly wake Izzah, who inherited Fareeha’s father’s deafness, so there is no risk of disturbing her sleep by doing so, is no drawback to Angela—to _Nenet_ —hearing that she is well, even when Angela is not there to watch over her.

_No,_ Ana’s response is quicker this time.  _Goodnight, Angela._

“I’m sorry, girl,” says Angela, not quite managing to keep her own very real disappointment from her voice, “The baby’s sleeping.”

Nenet does not understand, of course, and Angela is not the type to pretend that animals truly comprehend what their owners tell them, but when she huffs out a sigh and lays her head in Angela’s lap, it _seems_ as if Nenet is as disappointed as she, as if the dog, too, just wanted to hear Izzah breathing, to know the baby was well.

_Too,_ because Angela can no longer pretend, even to herself, that it was not she who longed to hear her daughter, that it is not she who is so anxious at a night’s separation that she cannot sleep, even exhausted as she is by work and new motherhood.  Her sadness at Ana’s refusal was too definite, deep, and sudden to be denied.  She told herself that she would not be this sort of mother, and yet—at least for tonight—she is.

Before Izzah was born, she worried that she would be the opposite kind of mother than the one she finds herself becoming, worried that because Fareeha conceived her, carried her, birthed her, that Izzah would feel more like her _wife’s_ daughter than _their_ daughter, worried that because she could not remember her own parents she would not know how to be a mother, worried that her trauma would impede her ability to bond with her child.

She need not have.

Instead, now, she finds herself almost _too_ attached, finds herself worrying about things she was certain that she would not, finds herself becoming an entirely different sort of mother than the one she imagined that she would be. Angela does not forget her daughter, too busy with her research to spend time with her child, and instead finds herself always prepared to return to her quarters in the early evening, everything carefully placed away. She does not find herself afraid to touch Izzah, worrying that her own bad luck will doom her child; she is close to her daughter, as close as one can be to a baby, and does not hesitate to hold her, to console her, to keep her close. She does not flounder, unable to guess her baby's needs, left staring at her child and wondering what it is she could possibly want while Izzah struggles for her inexperience—she is not a _perfect_ mother, it is true, but she is no worse than any other first time parent, her abilities do not suffer for her own lack of experience, of memory of what it was to be part of a family.

(This all worries her. In her life, little enough goes well. Surely, this means that eventually, something will go terribly wrong, it cannot be an _if_ but a _when._ Fareeha would tell her that this is not true, that not everything must go wrong and Angela tries her best to believe it. Losing Izzah would not break her, for nothing yet has, and she has lost _everything_ before, more than once, but she does not want to entertain the notion of a life without her daughter. For all the joy and goodness Izzah has brought to her life, there is also this, a new fear, another nightmare to wake her in the night, or—like now—to keep her from sleeping entirely.)

Perhaps sensing her distress—or, perhaps, just wanting Angela to resume petting her—Nenet pulls Angela from her thoughts by pressing her nose, cold and wet, against her owner's face.

If people are like their animals, then it is true that animals are also like the people who own them. In this instance, Nenet is much like Fareeha: an empathetic, soothing presence in Angela's life. It is true that her dog is not her wife, cannot hold her, cannot lull her to sleep simply by being in the same bed, deep and even breaths calming her and allowing her, yet again, to dream, but she is good nonetheless, sweet and gentle, and Angela finds herself almost, almost relaxing.

Angela yawns, then, and has a thought, one Fareeha would certainly chide her for, were she there, and one she herself would not allow her wife to entertain, if it were not she who thought of it.

“Are you tired, Nenet?” Angela asks, as if her dog could answer her. Nenet wags and Angela pretends that it is in response to her question. “Come on,” says she, “Let's go to bed.”

When she stands, Nenet does also, and when she beckons, Nenet follows, as if she understands what is asked of her.

Perhaps she does—she was a service animal, before she was theirs, and she is smarter than most.

Certainly, she is smart enough to know, when Angela pats the bed beside her, that she is not meant to climb up, that usually this is something which is forbidden to her. As if Fareeha might walk in at any moment she whines, and looks to the door. Angela laughs, and then pleads, and when that does not work she finally orders Nenet up.

Then, Nenet comes, and digs at the mattress as if she might shape it, making a mess of the blankets before settling down, somewhat uncertainly.

(Angela makes a note to herself to wash everything before Fareeha returns tomorrow afternoon, lest the smell of dog on her pillow give this away.)

Despite her uncertainty, Nenet falls asleep quickly enough, and Angela finds herself soothed by the sound of her breathing, almost as well as if Fareeha were here instead.

She is not lonely, now, and she was not before.  Her life was not empty without her daughter, without her dog, without her wife, but it is fuller now, is larger, and it scares her, at times like this, to be alone, not because she is not enough for herself, not because she cannot be content alone, if she needs to be, not because she is lonely but because she has something worth losing, and it scares her to think of a life apart from it.

(Angela is still herself, is still self-sufficient, but she does not _need_ to be, any longer, does not want to be, and she is choosing not to be.  She is not lonely, she is _frightened_ , because she has lost the people she cherishes before.  Somehow, this realization is almost comforting.)

The fear is worth it, she decides, before her eyes drift shut and she thinks nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah... there we have it. just some fluffy stuff!
> 
> if u liked it, lmk!! if u liked izzah... keep ur eyes peeled bc i have a million wips w her and one day ill post one
> 
> have a great day <3

**Author's Note:**

> ESA - emotional support animal btw. if u dont know... now u know
> 
> anyway there may be a part two of this featuring angela and nenet bonding SOMEDAY since there is a bit more to this headcanon but for now. this is self contained. a tiny little thing. bc if its short i dont have to ruin it w angst
> 
> also i love frogs so dont get it twisted i just think FAREEHA might be a little afraid of them. meanwhile i have a pet frog, and do not fear them, despite their teeth. my anora is sweet and doesnt bite me
> 
> title is a harry styles song because um... i love him. i mean im gay but i love him


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